Punishment
by The Adversary
Summary: You failed to strike me, Katsuhiro. Receive your punishment." An ordinary training sessions for Katsuhiro is anything but. KatsuKyuu. Citrusy.


**Warning**: This is citrusey (but not too explicit). If that offends you, please do not continue reading.

**A/N**: Oh lawed.I wanna thank Megaroth for being an awesome beta. (cough) Now... Onward! Fanfic-hoooo!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Samurai 7.

-

He watches the boy practice with intensity unparalleled by any but his own, eyes fixated on the straw dummies before him. He slices with his blade, air singing in its wake as it cuts through straw and wood instantly, almost perfectly.

He adjusts the collar on his jacket as he watches the boy remove his own, the once-white underclothes stained with dried sweat and grime. He watches the rise and fall of the boys chest as leans against a still-standing practice target, wiping his forehead with the back of a blistered hand, the other feebly clutching at his weapon.

"Katsuhiro," he begins, stepping out of the surrounding foliage, emerging from the shadows like some dark god, golden hair catching the evening sun, setting ablaze in the light. "Fight me."

Within seconds of those words leaving his lips, he draws his double katana from their sheath and lunges at the boy.

-

"You failed to strike me, Katsuhiro. Receive your punishment."

The slight fear and anticipation in the young mans eyes is evident as he drops to his knees, sword slipping from his fingers. Blood, red blood, dripping from his lips. A wet cough, a splash of dark liquid on the soft forest loam.

He backhands the boy, watching him hit the ground with cold, hard eyes. He leans down, grabbing his collar, pulling the boy's lips to his in another feverish kiss.

There's no resistance.

He knows there will be none.

Kyuzo knows, as he pulls the thick clothing from Katsuhiro's body, that he has broken through any that he might have had before. His mouth trails over abused flesh, biting hard and marking bruises on tender, milk-white skin, drawing soft pants and hot, salty tears as he works at the buttons of his pants, having removed his blood-red overcoat in the summer heat.

Shaking, trembling fingers pull away the snaps on his coat, slipping as Katsuhiro tries to remove his teachers clothing. He sits up, straddling the boys hips as he pulls the leather straps that belt his katana to him away. The red coat follows, and he slips the upper half of his black bodysuit off, tossing the clothes carelessly aside in the heat of their own personal battle.

"Y-yes, K-Kyuzo-dono," Katsuhiro moans, slim fingers working up the mans back, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as the blond's mouth begins to work at the junction of his neck. His cheeks are burning hot as his master, his teacher, presses onto him. Kyuzo's body was built like a jungle cat, long and lean, wiry with muscle and suppressed power. He turns his head, providing better access to the roaming mouth on his neck.

"You are still too reckless in your movements," his tongue runs up and down the length of the jugular, hands smoothing over Katsuhiro's stomach, lower, drawing a meweling whimper. "You need to learn to control yourself. Control your body."

His voice becomes lower, rougher, as he braces himself over the boy, reaching to unsnap the button of his pants. "Look at me, Katsuhiro." He grabs a nearby jar of oil, smearing it onto his fingers, coating his length.

The boys back arches in agonized pleasure at the press Kyuzo's fingers, hot and slick. He opens his eyes, looking up with something akin to admiration mixed with lust, and something more. He avoids dwelling on it as he presses harder, drawing a sharp cry. "Kyuzo-dono!"

-

He pulls away, leaving the panting, exhausted body beneath him. Tourquise eyes stare longingly up toward him, looking for some sign, some encouragement. He pulls his tight black pants up, glaring down with cold, unfeeling eyes at the boy.

He turns, picking the boys sword up from the ground, holding it out in front of him. The boy rises, one hand holding up too-large leggings, the other reaching out with trembling fingers to grasp the weapon.

"Dress yourself," Kyuzo says, watching as the boy scrambles for clothing. "When you're finished," he says, turning for the door in their shared hut, secluded from the village deep within the forest, "practice your katas."

He hears the low whisper of the boys voice, reverent and soft, and though he cannot see him, he knows he bows low, forehead pressed against the packed earth. "Yes, Sensei."

-

**A/N**: If any of the name suffixes or japanese words I so skillfully (I kid) added in are used/spelled incorrectly...I appologise. Japanese is not a language that I'm familiar with and since I'm working mouseless on this computer, looking things up for consistancy and what-not was somewhat...difficult. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope you enjoyed my first (and only?) forray into the Samurai 7 fandom.


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